


Where Our Soul and Grace Meet

by Maleyah (Katherine_Kat)



Series: The Intersection 'Verse (SPN Kink Bingo 2020) [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Because fuck Cas getting kicked out of The Bunker, Domestic Fluff, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mal wrote a thing, SPN Kink Bingo, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Soft Dom!Dean, Soft sub!Cas, Spanking, human!Cas, s9 divergence, sub!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:33:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22604026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katherine_Kat/pseuds/Maleyah
Summary: “Still,” Dean says, as he leans in, “I believe I asked you a question?”Castiel hears that voice dip into another part of him. Something smooth and warm trickles down his spine. A churning, familiar feeling swirls in the pit of his being.“Restless,” Castiel whispers, responsive to that tone and all it implies. “So restless I don’t know what to do with myself. Perhaps you do?”
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: The Intersection 'Verse (SPN Kink Bingo 2020) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615579
Comments: 16
Kudos: 81
Collections: SPN Kink Bingo, SPN Kink Bingo 2020





	Where Our Soul and Grace Meet

Walking under a darkened starless sky, Castiel has never felt this tense before in his life. Which from an angelic point of view is saying something. If this is what it means to be human, Castiel isn’t sure he wants any part of it. Wait, no, that’s a lie. Because he might be in love with some of the more poetic feelings that come with his humanity. Or Humanity itself. He’s just not sure he likes this tight-wound coiling under his sternum. It’s restless and taxing. It has no obvious cause and follows no logic he can discern. Nothing eases it.

He’s taken a shower and a bath every day for the last four days. He practically lives in his bathrobes and steals Dean’s most comfortable pyjamas. And his pillows. Soaking himself in his scent. He checks the stance of the moon. He’s listening to music endlessly, skipping from genre to genre. This greatly upsets Dean in the process, much to Sam’s amusement. He’s joined Sam on jogs and learned that he likes them, but they don’t ease whatever is ailing him.

He’s gone for walks so long, Dean had to come pick him up with Baby, because his vessel was tired. Dean chewed him out the first time, mainly because Castiel had left The Bunker without a means of communication.

“You’re squishy now, Cas, stop giving me heart attacks and vanishing like that.”

Today is the second time Dean has to come find him. Distraction and fatigue are both to blame this time. At least he was able to text Dean. It’s dark by the time they pull up at The Bunker. Dean looks at him as if he has a few choice things to say, but something in Castiel’s face makes him reconsider. Instead he reaches out, caressing his cheek with his knuckles. Castiel closes his eyes and leans into the touch with a sigh. Is this the confusing part about the intersection Dean talked about? Where you’re not sure what is whose anymore? Or your lines get all jumbled up? Maybe it’s just him… Maybe he's an equally broken human as he was an angel.

“Wanna cuddle up in the couch with a night cap? I have some new poems you might like.”

Castiel blinks as Dean’s voice draws him out of his thoughts. Poems. Dean’s voice and warmth. He smiles. “I’d like that.”

They go inside, hang up their coats and take off their shoes. Sam is in the library. He smiles over the edge of his book, _11/22/63_ , from the biggest couch, one long leg dangling over the back. Sam makes a sound Castiel has learned to interpret as ‘ _me too_ ’ when he sees Dean pour the whiskey and immediately goes back to his reading. Dean scoffs gently when he hands the glass to his brother.

Soon Castiel finds himself sitting with his back to Dean’s chest, a blanket draped around both of them. The couch isn’t built for two men their size, which makes for a mess of entwined limbs and little personal space. Something warm and cozy and perfect he can sink into. Castiel sips his whiskey, squinting lightly at how it burns down his throat. When the heat blooms in his chest, he sighs and leans back into Dean’s arms. They scoot around a bit, until he’s angled the right way to see Dean if he tilts his head up.

So he does. Drinks in the view of his three quarter profile. Imagines constellations on his skin. The way he frowns, Dean seems out of sorts tonight. Maybe Castiel’s disquiet is rubbing off on him? He stretches towards Dean to place a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

His voice is softer than usual when he starts reading. After the first two lines, he falters and looks at Castiel. Dean nudges him gently, until he’s settled better against his chest and unable to look at him. Castiel pouts at the air, as he takes another sip from his glass. It’s no use, since Dean can’t suffer the effects. His pout melts away easily when Dean continues reading.

He has not heard any of these poems before. There are quite a few, all in a similar style. Castiel listens mesmerised by both the words and the cadence of Dean’s voice. He presses into him, as his eyes flutter shut. He stays there, Dean’s voice painting with words, exploring love at every turn. Until Dean falls silent. Castiel looks at him, chin on his shoulder. The vantage point remains exquisite, no matter how often he finds himself here. He noses at Dean’s scruff.

“Who wrote those? They’re beautiful.”

Dean blushes. Curious, Castiel nips at the bolt of his jaw and traces his lips along his jawline, until he feels Dean shiver. He casts his eyes down at the notebook in his hands, fidgeting with the curled up corners of paper.

“They’re mine.”

Castiel holds still, his heart speeding up as he revisits what he heard. _Oh._ A gorgeous surprise that leads him to shuffle around on the couch, setting his glass aside, until he can sit in Dean’s lap, the blanket half dragged behind him. Dean shoots him a questioning look as he leans back. The faint dust of pink on his cheeks deepens, when Castiel bestows him The Look. He has no idea what exactly his face does when he uses it, but it seems to be a never-failing way to get Dean’s attention. Pull him into his personal space. Sometimes draw answers out of him when he’s being difficult or stubborn.

Castiel places another kiss of promise to the corner of his mouth. One that has Dean tilting into him, in search of all Castiel is willing to give. Dean puts his whiskey on the side table and slides his hands up Castiel’s flanks. Strong fingers knead into the muscles between his shoulders. The tension is so bad, the touch is borderline painful. Eyes falling shut, Castiel groans as he lets his forehead touch Dean’s. He rolls his shoulders.

“What has you in such knots lately?” Dean asks softly.

It shouldn’t take him by surprise, yet it still does. The way Dean has given in to their bond. He stopped hiding, revealing instead the immeasurable myriad of ways his love extends beyond the edges of the universe. Castiel is sure that if God had made Dean first, before everything else in existence, the strength of his heart could have powered creation itself. His own heart threatens to shatter at the realisation that, instead of creation, Dean’s love is his. His heart too, if his endearments at night are to be believed.

“Cas, you’re staring, honey. Use your words.”

“That’s rich,” Castiel says with a soft smile. “Pardon a fool of an angel for being captivated by your soul.”

“Jeez…” Dean ducks his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”

Castiel snorts. “Did you expect to teach me about love and poetry and not have me pick up a few things?”

“Oh, you’ve always had a knack for both, baby,” Dean smiles. He purses his lips in curiosity. “I thought you couldn’t see my soul anymore?”

“I can’t. Not the way I used to, but somehow… you’re still there. Your soul can’t be unseen or forgotten, Dean, as beautiful as your vessel is, you were always much more to me.”

Dean’s eyes practically glow when he hears those words. He smiles at Castiel the way only Dean can. “Still,” Dean says, as he leans in, “I believe I asked you a question?”

Castiel hears that voice dip into another part of him. Something smooth and warm trickles down his spine. A churning, familiar feeling swirls in the pit of his being.

“Restless,” Castiel whispers, responsive to that tone and all it implies. “So restless I don’t know what to do with myself. Perhaps you do?”

Dean blinks, long lashes fluttering beautifully in the soft light of the library. Then his tongue pushes between his parted teeth, the gears in his head visibly turning. There’s a delicate uptick in his eyebrow. His voice carries further perhaps than he intends when he speaks. “Yeah, I think I might have a few ideas, Cas.”

They both react to the soft groan coming from behind Castiel, as Sam sits up in the other couch. He must have fallen asleep too while Dean was reading.

“Both of you, go to your room,” Sam says blearily. He rubs a hand through his mussed up hair. “I can smell where this is going.”

“Sorry to wake you, Sam,” Castiel says as he leans backwards, trusting Dean’s arms to support him.

Sam squints a smile at them and yawns. “It’s okay. Bed sleep is better than couch sleep.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

Castiel turns bright eyes on Dean. He gets out of his lap, allowing his fingers to brush the soft spot on the inside of Dean's arm, just under the hem of his rolled up sleeve. Smiling tiredly, Sam gives both of them an unbalanced good night hug and wanders off. He extinguishes the lights, sinking him and Dean in semi-darkness.

Castiel stares at the dusky surroundings. The chill of fatigue wants to weigh him down, until he feels Dean sidle up behind him, warm and tempting. His breath ghosts over the skin at the back of his neck when he speaks.

“What do you need, Cas?”

He inhales shakily, sharply. “Your description was apt.”

“Which one? I’ve described you quite a few times by now.”

Castiel smiles at that, shivering as he arches into the touch, but Dean steps out of reach. Barely, but enough to get his intention across. Castiel sways back to his feet.

“A thousand knots. I feel like I am tied in a thousand knots,” he whispers.

“ _What_ do you need, Cas?”

His lips part as he exhales more firmly and looks up at the ceiling, though for the life of him, he has no idea why he does so. Whatever, whoever he needs is here on Earth.

“You.”

It is the simplest word, yet so powerful. He can feel it in the way Dean responds to it, like an electric charge jolts through the tiny empty space between them. Castiel has not made his mind up yet about what fans his desires: Dean’s searing hot touch or the tantalizing promise of them.

“Be specific, honey.”

He lets his eyes fall shut. “I feel like I’m tied in a thousand knots, but I need you to tie me up to loosen them back up. If that makes sense.”

He isn’t sure what to expect. Barring the research, Dean hasn’t tied him up quite the same way since the first time around. They’ve played with his tie. Dean’s belt even. But loosely. Never blindfolded. Although Castiel made it abundantly clear he wanted it, he also wanted to respect Dean’s boundaries.

So when Dean leans in and kisses the back of his neck, the churning feeling within turns to a bed of heated embers. All he needs is for Dean to strike the match and light them.

“Very well,” Dean murmurs. “What else?”

It costs him effort not to move, because he knows they fell into their other dynamic. He can’t move. Not yet. A slight tremble runs through him. He fails to distinguish between his wants and needs right now. A soft sound escapes him. He senses Dean’s hand between his shoulder blades and leans into the touch.

“Cas?”

“I need to surrender, Dean. You say you know what to do with me. I need you to.”

Dean presses closer to him, as his arms circle around him. A warm hand slips under his shirt and splays on his stomach. Dean breathes into his hair, nosing behind his ear. He starts walking them to their bedroom. A slow walk, during which he keeps Castiel close to him. The constancy of Dean’s body behind him, as he tugs and pushes and pulls him through The Bunker to their room, is like following a compass blindly.

The door closing behind them is like the latch to his personal safe haven. With a reassuring squeeze to his sides, Dean has him standing in front of the bed. Rummages around behind him near the door. When he hears the sound of fabric sliding through metal, the match is struck. A slow flame crackles to life.

Ever since their continued research, he’s been hoping. Straining to listen, Castiel is caught off guard when Dean shows up next to him.

“I’m going to blindfold you again, Cas.”

He looks at Dean and is almost sorry he’ll not get to see him for what’s to come. His face must betray him, because Dean’s forehead wrinkles with concern.

“Speak your need, honey. Always. That expression’s going to break my heart one day.”

Castiel sighs in relief. “I’d like to see your face tonight. Eventually. I trust you’ll know when.”

He closes his eyes, knowing that suffices. Soon enough soft fabric caresses his face as Dean blindfolds him. Firm gestures have him turning around and moving towards the door. Not all the way there though, he guesses, when Dean halts him. He steadies Castiel by the shoulders. A few heartbeats in, his arms come around him under his arms towards his throat. Slowly, Dean undoes his buttons, baring his skin to the air. Every touch sends a teasing spark through him, colours lighting up against his eyelids with each of them.

He angles his head forwards when Dean’s hands glide over his shoulders to take his shirt off. When his sleeves are about halfway his arms, Castiel sways as Dean twists the fabric into his hands, locking his arms in place and _lifts_. He moves with the strength and tension onto the balls of his feet, sensing the tickle of Dean’s hair in the back of his neck. A soft sound falls from his lips and he shivers when he hears Dean’s pleased hum in reply. Holds him like that, as he whispers words into Castiel’s neck. Words he can’t make out, but they travel hotly across his nerves either way like licking flames.

Dean releases the pressure and his shirt is gone. There are a few seconds of nothing, of blessed silence besides their breathing and waiting, as Castiel catches his breath. Then Dean barely touches the inside of his left arm, a feather light hint of his fingers. Castiel moves with the mute order. His fingers slide over the length of his arm languidly, until they come to his wrist and Dean slips his hand through the rope. Tightens it a bit and repeats the process with his other arm.

“Let me tighten them before you put your weight on them.”

Castiel hums and twists inside the restraints, as he feels the tension rise.

“How’s this?”

“Good,” he says, sighing as he tentatively leans into them and his muscles stretch under the pressure.

“Wrists?”

“Good,” he repeats with a smile. Dean took extra care when he ordered the new material, wanting Castiel comfortable. More than comfortable. He wiggles his fingers to emphasize his point. “This feels good.”

With a flash of impatience, Castiel wants to let his weight hang and relax into the suspension, when a hand at his belt buckle surprises him. He gulps, tensing up and biting down on his lower lip. He rolls his head back in search of him, as Dean undoes the belt and removes it, fast enough for the leather to cause a soft burn. He unbuttons his pants and, as Castiel’s breathing picks up for a second, Dean vanishes abruptly. Castiel lets out a soft protest.

“Patience, Cas, I’ll be right back.”

He licks his lips, as he tries to listen. He hears a drawer open and close. The soft sound of Dean’s feet as he makes his way back. He even moves differently in these moments, Castiel has noticed. Then the feel of something on his skin refocuses him to his core. A barely there caress dances across his flank down to his lower back. He huffs softly and smiles, as he angles his wrists and grabs hold of the ropes.

He doesn’t quite understand the process. Nor does he think it matters much for the experience.

Dean is going to build him up and take him apart at the same time. Slowly. He can’t tell if it’s the feather or a delicately handled belt, but he moves into the teasing dashes of contact. Castiel suspects there is a measure of restraint or caution still involved, which suits him fine. He delights in the care Dean shows him. His willingness to create this space, where Castiel can surrender without risk. The knowledge that Dean does this for his sake sends a surge of desire up as the first hit of the night lands.

The pain spikes through him, drawing sounds out. Whimpers in the span of time between the impacts. He mutters Dean’s name reverently. He knows he babbles, letting whatever he feels fall from his lips into their shared space. He cries out when the hits come in harder. Faster. Dean alternates with softer touches, either by hand or voice, and Castiel trembles to pieces under the effects.

His skin burns in several places, the throbbing pain vibrating through him with every beat of his heart. It’s thrumming in his ears, but for all that, Dean’s voice always reaches him. The heat of this experience melts the tension out of his muscles. With it, the unease in his chest becomes lighter. He feels himself go over an edge. Not familiar enough yet, but he remembers and he goes with it. The burning flame effect fades into a cushioning, billowing feeling. He floats on the barbs of pain, the thrumming pleasure in the wake of each and the world falls away. Besides the bonds that hold him. The ropes. And Dean. Always Dean.

He’s blind, but he swears he can see both of them in this room. Within The Bunker, but it falls away into darkness, leaving only them. Dean’s bright soul of gold and green and the colour of life itself. In this transcendent moment, Castiel sees his own wings. They flare and fan out massively, restored to their glorious pitch black painted with meteor tails. His grace shines as bright as Dean’s soul, their colours blending to perfection. He gets two more heartbeats of etching the view into his memory before he’s drawn back mercilessly into his body. Into his blissed out on pain, trembling human vessel. Every cell is vibrating, waiting for more.

His breathing is deep and ragged, his system flooded by too much, too many things to name and he’s drowning, as desire follows closely, unforgiving, on the heel of pain. For the first time he actually struggles against his bonds, keening out Dean’s name.

The effect is immediate.

He moans out a long sigh when Dean releases some of the pressure on his restraints and turns him around. His arms now crossed, Castiel winces and breathes hard when Dean presses closer to him. A hand cups his face and cards through his hair. The heat coming off the both of them is like a furnace.

Muttering something, Dean removes the blindfold. Castiel blinks hard, even though there isn’t a lot of light. He struggles, until his eyes find his true north. Dean. He smiles through the glorious haze at the blur that is his beloved. He’s not sure what he’s saying, but it’s probably the only word that still carries any meaning. His name.

“Cas, look at me, honey. Focus, please.”

He makes the effort. Of course he does. He wants a kiss. Several. So badly. And he isn’t getting that, if Dean thinks he’s losing him again.

“Are you okay?”

Castiel wills himself into focus. Wills himself to return to Dean.

“There you are,” Dean smiles, as his face comes into full high definition focus.

Castiel inhales deeply at the sight of a wrecked Dean. Next he becomes aware of his arm around his waist and the fact that Dean’s still in his jeans, his plaid shirt unbuttoned. He licks his lips reflexively. Castiel rolls his hips, letting out a pleased hum when he finds Dean’s dick pressing into his.

“Cas,” Dean groans. “Hold still.”

Castiel mewls but acquiesces. Dean searches his face, his expression holding a fine line between inquisitive and ravenous. He quite likes the look on him as he takes in the thin sheen of sweat on his brow. He juts out his chin, breath ghosting over Castiel’s lips.

“What do you want?”

“Kisses,” Castiel says immediately, voice rough. “The bed. Release. You. Dean…”

His hands come untied within seconds. Castiel’s arms burn as they are released and he stumbles into Dean, when he has to hold his own weight once more. He wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders, but they feel limp for now. “Cas, you…”

“I am good, Dean,” he smiles, squeezing closer as he catches Dean’s gaze. There is a flicker of worry, which Castiel needs to douse. “I am _good_ , you hear me?”

They agreed early on that using the word ‘ _fine_ ’ was not going to work. It seems to register with Dean.

Green eyes cloud over as he nips at Castiel’s lips. “Kisses, huh?”

“Heavens, yes,” Castiel huffs. “All of them. Everything.”

“Of course,” Dean says, voice low as he leans in, his head tilted.

Castiel entwines his fingers in the back of his neck, his heart thudding at the promise in Dean’s voice. They move in unison, claiming each other in a kiss. He hisses into it, when Dean grazes his back as he wraps his arms around him. The current state of his skin sings through his veins, augmenting every touch blissfully. There’s a brief stutter in Dean’s gestures when he registers Castiel’s pain. Castiel pulls at him harder and angles his head, dipping his tongue into Dean’s mouth. Dean moans and grips him tighter, the kiss reassuring them both and they stumble to the bed.

Dean falls backwards, refusing to let go of him. Breaking the kiss, Castiel moves with him, his muscles humming and pulsing as he crawls onto his knees, straddling Dean. Dean cups his face pulling him into a deep kiss. Stars spark behind his closed eyelids, when he rolls his hips. Castiel groans into his mouth, lapping him up.

“Dean, beloved,” he pants. “I need…”

Dean stills beneath him and flusters beautifully. It takes Castiel a second to realise why and he smiles.

“That’s a first,” Dean whispers.

Castiel leans over him, slowly, ignoring his desires in favour of kissing Dean’s lips. Once. Soft. Warm. “It fits you like perfection.”

He basks in the glow of Dean’s blush travelling up from his chest to his neck, the way his freckles stand out against it and his soft eyes. The swirling inside demands attention. He kisses Dean harder, grinding his hips. “Dean…”

Dean licks into his mouth, sending a jolt of pleasure straight down. “Uh-uh. I know, Cas. Lie on your back, baby.”

Castiel lifts himself off of Dean and gingerly lays down on the sheets. He closes his eyes and sighs, when the fiery effect of the burns on his back is reignited. Moans when Dean’s hand grazes over his zipper and undoes it, making short work of his remaining clothes until he’s naked. His dick strains towards his navel, twitching in anticipation.

Castiel reaches out to Dean, but lets his hand fall back to the sheets. To watch Dean undress. He squirms as Dean reveals himself to him and lets his eyes linger. On the freckles, the scars, the tattoo. Dean looking at him like that makes him think of one of the poems Dean read earlier. He fears his now human heart might one day give out under the feelings Dean elicits. It’s almost too much. And then it isn’t enough.

The way Dean leans over as the thought hits him, Castiel wonders if he picks up on it. And then that thought flies out the window when Dean captures his lips as he slides between Castiel’s legs. Castiel moans into his mouth when his full weight presses him into the mattress. He is aware of Dean’s hand searching under the pillows, while he kisses Castiel, deeply, urgently. He hears the lube being uncapped. Castiel huffs in protest when Dean breaks their kiss and gets a gentle questioning eyebrow for it as Dean lubes up his fingers, warming it up.

“I think this might be the only moment I miss my grace,” he mumbles as his eyes follow the movements of Dean’s hand.

He wraps an arm around Dean, grabbing his shoulder when the first teasing touch registers, not cold but not warm either. Not yet anyway. Pushing gently, Dean smirks up at him, eyes drinking in the view as Castiel's breath hitches and he arches into the feeling.

“Hmm,” Dean hums, licking his lips, his face soft as he kisses him briefly. “Then it wouldn’t be the full human experience, would it?”

The relentless tender buzz of pain stemming from lying on his back blends beautifully with Dean’s ministrations. He lets his legs fall wider, pulling them up slightly.

“Ahhh… Mhh, Dean!”

Dean pushes his forehead to Castiel’s temple, nosing at his cheek. Licks at the corner of his mouth, as he watches Castiel respond when he pushes his finger in. Panting as he bites on his lower lip, Castiel rolls his hips in search of more.

Dean groans, his jaw clenching beautifully and his eyes darken. “Oh, God, Cas…”

With kisses and sounds and his entire blessedly human body, Castiel spurs Dean on wordlessly to spread him open further. Faster. He works his core muscles to fuck down onto his hand. Holds his gaze unflinching, tears brimming, and flashes him a smile through them, until he sees Dean’s falling apart as much as he is. Watches the second his focus shifts from Castiel's needs into wanting more. Wanting all of Castiel.

He laughs through a relieved deep moan, when Dean sits up on his knees. Castiel’s eyes are drawn to Dean's cock, standing at rock-hard attention, as he slicks himself up. What little cognitive skills he has left briefly skip to the corporeal, to the deep and honest beauty within this layer of humanity. Then they slip out of his grasp as Dean grabs his hips and breaches him. He sinks into him to the feel of a slow burn and the sound of their united relieved moans.

Dean caresses his calloused hands over his thighs and walks over on his hands until he’s boxing him in on either side of his head, their foreheads touching. Their breaths mingle as they move, Castiel’s skin ablaze. Dean licks into his mouth and locks them together at the lips as well. Castiel moans when Dean responds to his requests of _more_ and _harder_ and _closer_ , until there is no more space left between them.

Castiel wraps himself around Dean, legs locked at his lower back. A hand at the back of his neck, another gripping the longer strands of his hair. Every breath brings a full inhale of Dean, his musk, his sweat. He can feel the burn of scruff as Dean buries his face in his neck. Every thrust knocks the breath out of him harder, faster, as Dean works up the pace and finds _that angle_. Keening, Castiel meets him for each one, rolling his hips and clenching down on him, the scrape of the sheets burning into his back. Dean must hear something shift in his tone or in his muscles and his hand moves between them. The mere intent behind it has Castiel turning his head to kiss him.

“Dean, yes, please, yes,” he moans in desperation for release.

Dean's hand closes around his dick with the ease of intimate familiarity in the way he handles him. Castiel's knees lock in place and his toes curl, a full body tremble giving him away before his orgasm washes over him and he surrenders, arching up under Dean, as he comes between them. The sounds that fall from his parted lips are caught by Dean’s, their breaths a hot mess as his vision whites out. His come is swept up between their sweat-slick bodies, as Dean plants both hands on either side of him and thrusts harder. When he hears the familiar, low rumble rising up from the depths of Dean’s chest and he hears the pitch in his tone shift, Castiel opens his eyes, because he wants to see. Dean meets his gaze and holds it as he crests over the top and falls, Castiel holding him through it, until Dean’s arms are shaking. Breathing hard and smiling bright, Castiel pulls him down on top of him and Dean follows readily. Castiel lets out a groaned, content sigh that turns into a laugh, when Dean’s entire weight lands on him shamelessly. He kisses every part of him he can reach. His ear. Sweaty temple. Noses into him insistently until Dean turns his head and gives him blissed out kisses.

“I have to move.”

“Why?” Castiel asks, his voice tight.

“Because I am clearly crushing you.”

“Well, you crushed something, alright,” Castiel chuckles. “Isn’t that the expression?”

With a soft chuckle, Dean shifts his weight, pulling Castiel along. There’s a very human moment as Dean slips out of him with a sound he hasn’t quite gotten used to yet. They settle into an easy embrace, though he knows they’ll need to get up eventually. Maybe they can shower together before sleep, he muses. Dean tugs him to his side, but there’s something in his face that distracts Castiel.

“Why are you making that face? That face does not befit what we just got up to, because that was perfect,” Castiel says on a breathy exhale.

Dean chuckles lowly. “It’s fine, Cas.”

“ _Fine_? Dean, if something was unsatisfactory…”

Dean's face blanches. “Cas, ah, no, stop that thought in its tracks right there. Nothing was unsatisfactory in any kind of way, shape or form, okay?”

“Then don’t you ‘ _fine_ ’ me. I can read you.”

Dean scowls lightly, but in the close quarters they’re in, it loses most of its potency. Castiel scoots closer, eyeing him expectantly, until Dean caves.

“Maybe it’s my inexperience, but there’s no way I could have kept you tied up like that much longer,” he says. “Not sure if it’s proper decorum or if I should have… done something differently.”

With a soft sound, Castiel slots himself to Dean's side. Entwining their legs, he plants kisses to his jawline. “I doubt proper decorum has much to do with this. I don’t want power displays or fixed roles to get in the way of our needs. I needed to be released. I needed your kisses. To feel you."

Gently he nips at Dean's lips. "What did you want?”

Dean captures his mouth in a warm kiss, mumbling the beginning of his answer fervently. “Jeez, Cas, I wanted to loosen you from those ropes and take you to bed a lot sooner than that… It’s a strange balancing act. You’re… you’re a sight when you’re like that, I won’t deny that or the effect you have on me. Part of me wants to hold you there… and another part wanted you in bed.”

His eyes widen for emphasis. “A lot sooner.”

“I’m getting that,” Castiel smiles. He can feel his cheeks burning at the praise and love in Dean’s voice. “I like how it went tonight.”

Dean hums warmly as he kisses Castiel, cupping his cheek. “That’s lucky. So did I. And perhaps we gotta keep doing it that way.”

“Which is?”

“Our way, whichever way that is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Poetic Cas and Dean still won't leave me alone. How dare they? I'm a sucker for the domestic with Sam too, as minor as they are.
> 
> Square three filled: sub!Cas.
> 
> Come join fellow SPN/Destiel weirdo aficionados on [the Profound Bond Discord server](https://discord.gg/profoundbond)! Demons of a feather flock together <3
> 
> All ears for your comments on how you receive these soft boys. Though FYI, none of these have been beta-read.
> 
> Love,  
> Mal


End file.
